


Like Something's A Brewin', About To Begin

by Lothiriel84



Series: Who Will Find Me [6]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen, Gen or Pre-Slash, M/M, Post-Episode: s04e03 The Final Problem, Spoilers, Undecided Relationship(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-02
Updated: 2017-02-02
Packaged: 2018-09-21 14:45:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9553289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lothiriel84/pseuds/Lothiriel84
Summary: I was looking for a breath of life,A little touch of heavenly lightBut all the choirs in my head sang no (I believe it)(Florence + The Machine,Breath Of Life)





	

“Was there something else you wanted to talk about, Detective Inspector?” he enquires at length, pointedly ignoring the knowing look on the other man’s face.

Lestrade shoots him one of his charming grins, his hands raised in a conciliatory gesture. “I was thinking something more along the lines of a drink, actually.”

He sits back, assessing the utterly ludicrous suggestion. First Lady Smallwood, and now this; he truly must be losing his touch if everyone around him is so concerned about his mental state, including his PA who keeps stealing worried glances whenever she thinks he can’t see her.

“I’m sure you have better things to occupy yourself with,” he replies somewhat coldly, his smile barely even reaching his lips.

_I am trying to be kind. Please leave now._

“Not a thing,” Lestrade assures him, the warmth in his eyes nearly enough to trigger his fight-or-flight response.

Sentiment is just a liability for a man in his position. A commodity he cannot afford, not when he’s devoted his entire life to serving his country. (And family.)

“Well, some of us do, I believe. I won’t keep you, Inspector.”

“Holmeses. You really have a knack for shutting yourselves off from the rest of us, don’t you?”

Mycroft stiffens ever so slightly at the other man’s barely concealed amusement, only to implicitly recognise the truth in his statement. At least Sherlock is doing so much better now on that front –  thank heavens for small mercies.

“He worries about you, you know,” Lestrade adds, almost as an afterthought. “He told me to make sure you’re looked after.”

“I can assure you I am perfectly capable of looking after myself, Inspector.”

_My family, not so much. Uncle Rudy would be ever so disappointed._

“I’ll take your word for it. In the meantime, drink?”

He thinks of Sherlock, slumped onto the floor staring at the coffin he’d just smashed to pieces; of John Watson, holding the lifeless body of the woman he used to call his wife, and the mother of his child.

“Very well,” he says eventually, reaching for his coat. It’s only halfway to their intended destination that he realises the wind has turned to the west, and it’s far gentler than he remembers.


End file.
